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Here's the next prompt. The image is from photobucket. I don't know the artist, but will gladly give credit. Have fun! I look forward to reading what you come up with.
God bless._________________Be patient with me. Like any good story, I'm a work in progress.

If I shut my eyes I can still visit Eulalia in my mind. It's all jumbled together and I see only what I want to see ... but that's the way small towns are. The picture changes in my mind as I watch. The arch that opened out on the pasture where the olive trees grew, and the lake where I fished for perch in the spring. Then there was the courtyard where the oil lantern was lighted every afternoon at five ... whether it was dark or not, it was simply a signal that the taverna had opened its doors and it was time for the old folks to play backgammon.

There was the well by the intersection of the only two streets in town. The streets had no names, but one led off to de Santos and he other to Mallorca where they made terrible wine for the tourists. At the well the women gathered in the lazy afternoons and gossiped about this and that. They never failed to bring up the subject of Rosalita who hung her wash across the street in front of the taverna. She never hung her underwear inside her sheets, but left them out for all to see. She didn't go to mass either and everyone said she had good reason to avoid the church. Still, without Rosalita, there would be little to gossip about, for in Eulalia nothing ever happened.

Rosalita was the only young person left in Eulalia. To make a living in this world the young people moved on, the women to marry and the men, (like me) to find work elsewhere. The old town will stay in our hearts and minds for a life time. Sentiment, however, does not pay the rent nor does it put a down payment on the new Mercedes.

I thought, when I grew older and moved away, I would forget Eulalia. But I have not. There was certainly little of consequence there to remember. Nothing ever happened there. No great battles were fought. People from far away never came to visit ... there is not even an hotel today. Imagine that! If you came to Eulalia there would be no place for you to stay. Unless, perhaps you care to stay with Rosalita._________________We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.
Ernest Hemingway

Sasha studied the papers she carried. “I know, but according to the written directions and the map, this is the place.”

“Unless it’s been torn down,” Trey grumbled. “People always tear down old buildings to put up new ones.”

A group of children separated from the crowds milling about the market. Sasha stumbled out of their path to avoid being trampled. She steadied herself against a vendor’s cart. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. Look around. Everything’s old. Nothing’s changed in centuries.”

Sasha shrugged. “I’ll have a couple of dates and some pistachios.” She looked at Trey. “You want anything?”

He turned out his pockets. “I’m broke.”

“I’ll pay. I swear, you’re worse than Papa ever was. ”

Trey smiled. “In that case, I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Four dates and two bags of pistachios.”

The vendor counted out four dates and put them into a small sack. “Big bag of pistachios better price than two small.”

“Thank you. We’ll take the larger bag,” Sasha said

He poured two scoops of the nuts into a larger bag and weighed it. “Please to pay a small silver piece and two coppers.”

“I’ve got the coppers,” Trey pulled them out of his pocket. “Call it my contribution.”

“Small as it might be.” She pulled two small silvers from her pocket and placed it, along with the coppers in their toothless peddler’s hand. “Keep the change.” His grin faded into confusion when she did not release his hand. “I need some information.”

Trey showed him the drawing. “Do you know where this is? Can you tell us?”

The man pulled free. “Why show me?” He swept his arm in front of him. “You see what I see. Is it here?” He glanced at the crowds and lowered his voice. “Maybe you not looking right.”

“Not looking right? What do you mean?” Sasha asked.

“I mean what I say.” The vendor raised the handles of the cart and weaved his way through the crowds. “Must go now.”

Sasha and Trey fell into step. “That’s not an answer,” Trey said. “What are you afraid of?”

“You’ll see if you …” The man picked up his pace. “I go. What you pay for you get. I pay for my spot…can’t let others steal. “

“That was odd.” Sasha handed Trey half the dates and reached into the bag of nuts. “And cryptic. Almost like he was trying to tell us something.” Her fingers brushed against something thin and brittle. She pulled it out. “What’s this?”

“Let’s unfold it, but not here.” Trey pulled her into a deserted alleyway. “Now.”

The image on the parchment crackled alarmingly. “Put the drawing under it so it doesn’t crumble.” Sasha gasped. “Do you see what I see?”

Trey whistled. “No wonder we missed it.”_________________Be patient with me. Like any good story, I'm a work in progress.

Harry, I really like this little snippet. It's nostalgic and sort of bittersweet. You paint a moving portrait of a person's small village home town. Rosalita puts me in mind of the splash of color in a black and white painting. Well done, my friend! I love it. (And I can see why it gained attention on that other site...I'll have to check the name. )

God bless,
Marlicia
with God all things are possible_________________Be patient with me. Like any good story, I'm a work in progress.